


non, je ne regrette rien

by malkinisms (hannibalisms), orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalisms/pseuds/malkinisms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, Kaner has a beard.  That's new.  And strange.  Because Kaner has proven for years that the beard is just beyond him, which is why he has the playoff mullet rather than the playoff beard, so when Jonny sees him for the first time at the end of the break, he doesn't really know what to say, aside from chirping him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	non, je ne regrette rien

**Author's Note:**

> This is a back and forth fic written by [myself](http://hannibalisms.tumblr.com) and [miriam](http://spiritthatdenies.tumblr.com) on tumblr! it started out as some meta about Peek's beard-growing abilities and just went from there.
> 
> So there's that.
> 
> Also this song, which led to our meta: Die Ärzte's [3 Tage Bart](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iva7hJYCSoE) (which is '3 Day Beard' in english). You NEED to read the [lyrics in English](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/3-tage-bart-three-day-beard.html) (or German, if that's your thing).
> 
> (also, [Quebec French profanity](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quebec_French_profanity%22>quebecois%20swearing</a>,%20if%20) and the Doritos thing belongs to Puck Daddy)
> 
> all mistakes belong to miriam and i. we do not know kaner and tazer nor do we think any of this shit is true but it's nice to think about it, so.

So, Kaner has a beard.

That's new.  And strange.  Because Kaner has proven for years that the beard is just beyond him, which is why he has the playoff mullet rather than the playoff beard, so when Jonny sees him for the first time at the end of the break, he doesn't really know what to say, aside from chirping him.

It's not even a _good_ chirp.  Marde. "You look like a fucking sea captain, what the fuck," is not among his best chirps.

What's more worrying is how much he likes it.  He's known that he's bi for the longest time, but dudes do it more for him, but Pat - Pat's not just some dude he meets in a bar who doesn't know who he is, Pat's his _friend_ , his linemate.

You'd think the other guys would do it for him if that was the case, because it's not like beards are uncommon in hockey, but the thought of getting with any of them makes his stomach curl. Ew.

So yeah, whatever, Jonny likes Pat's stupid, unexpected beard. 

Whatever.  He can deal with it.

Except that, you know, he _doesn't_.  Not the way he'd like, not the way he prides himself on being able to do, that's for sure, because it makes him hot all over until he can get home or back to his hotel, and get out what he at first thinks is a hate-wank.

They're good hate-wanks, too, thinking about his stupid teammate and how he can't wait until Kaner gets rid of that stupid thing on his face.

Until it's not about that, until all of a sudden one night he's pressed up against the white tiles of a stupid hotel shower and he actually _moans_ out Kaner's name and he comes so hard he almost whites out, gasping and shaking and pleased to all hell that Kaner's out with Sharpy and wasn't around to hear him.

Kaner is not stupid, though, as much as Jonny wishes that he was.  He has to figure something out, the way Jonny's chirps revolve around his stupid face and his stupid beard and how it's fucking ginger, because one day when Jonny's complaining to Hossa about something or other, Pat just kind of tilts his head and watches them.

When Jonny's all heated up about it - he can't even remember what it was, because he caught sight of Pat, so now he and Hossa are just bitching about shit in general - he just comes up behind Jonny and rubs it against his shoulder, joining in their conversation, which isn't strange because they're always hanging all over each other, so it doesn't faze Marian.

It sure as hell phases Jonny, because Kaner's stupid fucking beard catches on his shirt, and it makes him shiver but he doesn't say anything about it.  Because that would be obvious.

(Like he isn't already, ugh.)

A few weeks later, one night they're hanging out with Sharpy and Shawzy in someone's hotel room (he thinks it _might_ be Shawzy's, but hell if he knows, he can barely remember the number of his own room) playing video games.

And Kaner, he just kind of sidles up behind him on the bed where he's sitting on the edge, chirping Sharpy for being old and sucking at video games, and he hooks his chin over Jonny's shoulder and rubs his stupid beard along the curve of his neck and his jaw, and Jonny almost loses it right there because _christ on a cracker_ fucking _Kaner._

And without thinking about it, he stands up and almost breaks Kaner's nose with how quick it is and he stomps back to his (their) room to just try and get away from everything, because he doesn't want to explain to _anyone_ why he's popping boners while watching his friends play GTA5.  That would be a million on a scale of 1 to 10 of Things That Jonny Never Wants To Do.

But he can hear Patrick behind him, trailing him down the corridor as he storms around in a mixture of rage and arousal, and he slams the door behind him to try and block Pat out, but it won't work, because Patrick's always been good at getting what he wants.

(Also, he has a key.)

He can imagine Kaner just strolling behind him because he knows exactly where Jonny is going and that he already won when Jonny fled out of the room, and when he opens the door to their room Jonny's already halfway out of his clothes and has his hand buried in his pants, and knows that Pat can see the fingers squirming under the fabric while he does his best attempt at a death glare.

(He fails miserably of course, because it's directed at Pat while he's _jerking it to Pat's beard_ , okay.)

Patrick decides he can be merciful given the circumstances and bites back his smile, and instead he says "Want some help with that?" with a smile and a cock of his hips.

What an absolute _fucker_.

Jonny grudgingly agrees with a terse nod, fine, fuck him, he can have this, he can have it this _once._

And then Patrick lays him out on the bed and gets him out of his pants and boxers, all without words, and spreads his legs wide and gets his hands on that ass, a handful for each, like he's testing the muscles and seeing if it really is as big as the media says it is. And Jonny wants to ask what's going on, because he just wants to _come_ , okay, his dick is really into that idea, but Pat _starts eating him out_. 

This is straight out of one of Jonny's wet dreams, because he licks and licks and licks until Jonny is wet and begging, slurring into the pillows where his face is buried, trying to keep Pat from hearing him.

Then he starts using his goddamn long fingers, and it is _over_ , he is not playing _fair_.

It's basically as hot as Jonny thought it would be, but feeling that scratch of the Beard (and his internal monologue gives it a capital, because it's fucking _important_ ) all over his ass and thighs and the small of his back, and the little sting makes the whole experience so much more pleasurable because it's like roller coaster of pain and pleasure, and Jonny's not someone who wants sweetness and light.

He loves that shit, okay? He plays hockey for _so_ many reasons, and being able to pull one off after a game where he can press his fingers into bruises is _awesome_ , don't judge him.

And Jonny is so riding that, pushing back onto Pat's fingers and moaning out shit in French that hopefully Pat doesn't catch, but it's enough to have Pat diving back in to tongue-fuck him along with his fingers and Jonny _comes_ , all over the bed, so hard he's almost _sobbing_ with it.

When Pat slips his fingers out, Jonny slides sideways to the bed and can only watch as Pat fumbles with his own zipper and gets a hand around his cock, only managing a few pulls before he's coming.

They don't say anything as Pat gets a washcloth and cleans them up, and muscles them into his bed.

In the morning Kaner chirps him about his rage-arousal and Jonny regrets his life choices because beard burn on his ass is not something nice to wake up to, but he would so do it again.  A lot of times.

Sharpy squints at them at morning skate, because Jonny's more angry than usual, actually gets into a squabble with Crow (which NEVER happens) and sulks in his alcove and is more forbidding than usual that even Kaner is staying away, because he's confused.

Jonny was so into it last night (whimpering and pleading and moaning it out, _begging_ for Kaner's mouth and hands) and now he's oozing "get the fuck away from me", so he goes out with Shawzy while Jonny has a sulk because he doesn't know what else to do, because Jonny doesn't use his words, has never used his words.

Even as a kid Jonny was more likely to sulk and seethe before his mom or dad would pull the words from him, almost physically, but they did.  He's gotten better, but everyone knows that when Jonny is in a mood, it's better to just let him alone.

After he watches Shawzy (and Bollig and a handful of others) leave he lets Sharpy coax him into his room with carbs (that _fucker_ , he knows it's not in his diet but _mashed potatoes_ and _mozzarella sticks_ and _cheesecake_ ) and doesn't ask questions or prod at him, just lets him sit and eat and stew.

Jonny knows that Sharpy knows that Jonny knows what he's doing.  Jonny lets him.

He can only last so long, though, because it's _Sharpy_ , and Jonny shoves away the empty plate and it just _pours_ out of him.  Everything about Kaner's stupid beard and his stupid face and his stupid _everything_ and Sharpy just listens and listens. 

He ends up pulling Jonny close and acting like he can't hear Jonny sniffling into his shoulder (because Sharpy's like the team dad, everyone comes to him with things, even though he's not much older than most of them) and scratches at Jonny's scalp, gentling him because that's what Jonny needs.

He finally looks down where Jonny's face is pressed against his shoulder and it's a rictus of misery and Sharpy realizes that Jonny looks like how he felt about Abby when he first met her, so long ago at college; he knows the twist of Jonny's heart, because he's afraid of fucking up what he has (could have, _wants_ to have) with Kaner.

All Sharpy can say, because that's all there is, is "If you love him, don't let him go, man."

Jonny tenses all over, like he does when someone gets checked too hard on the ice and he has to worry until they get up and everything's fine, but then he relaxes and Sharpy can see the realization over his face (like he never even _thought_ of the possibility, jesus, everyone on the team knows that it's not Kaner and Tazer but _KanerTazer_ , two parts of a whole).  Jonny mumbles curses and fumbles off the bed, trips over his shoes to pull them on and leaves Sharpy's room without a backward glance, throwing a goodbye over his shoulder.

He _has to find Patrick_ , right now, his fucking _life_ depends on it, seriously.

It's somehow easy after that. When Jonny sets his mind on something, the world becomes simple.

Maybe Patrick will not want the same thing as he does, and that will hurt if it's the case, but they'll figure something out because that's what they _do_.

But there's the other possibility, the chance that Patrick feels and wants the same and _fuck_ Jonny's stomach flips every time his mind goes near the thought, so he doesn't because he needs to concentrate to _not fuck this up._

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. He hovers over the call button a few times, staring at Pat's number, but in the end he settles on texting Bollig because the Rockford boys like to stick together.

He sends him _wher u @_ and gets back _the one with the jäger jello shots_ and wow, he remembers that bar and the collective hangover the team got there. If all goes to hell in a handbasket he can at least relieve frustration by dragging them all out of there and making them do squats in the morning as punishment.

The whole twenty minutes in the cab are spent playing Robot Unicorn. The competitive need to beat Hossa's high score lets him focus and that song actually makes him calm down, even though he would never admit that, because it's one of those things that are between him and the Hoss.

(He's not even fucking close to Hossa's score.)

The bar is loud, most of it coming from a bachelorette party for chemists.  That's what their shirts say, at least, as they scream and toss back drinks, and Jonny takes a minute or two to orient himself. It's dimly lit but a horde of hockey players should be easy to find anywhere, all shoulders and shitty hats and _stupid fucking beards_.

They can't be gone already, can they?

He gives himself a moment to panic before a familiar voice slurs in his ear.

"Hey cap'n," it says, and a clingy arm wraps itself around him. Crow gives him a fond head-bump, grinning.

"Searching for us? C'mon, I'll take you. You're such a good cap'n, always looking out for us," Crow says, and mumbles something about being the team mom, and Jonny decides just to nod along as long as he finds Patrick, because Crow gets _weird_ sometimes when he drinks.

(Also, he feels bad for being a douche to Crow earlier, so, you know.  Goalies.)

They're in a booth in the back all squeezed together, falling all over themselves and in each other's laps, raucous and loud. Patrick is right in the middle, of fucking _course_ , with his fucking nicely groomed beard (that he rubbed all over Jonny last night, in places that still ache and burn) and Jonny can't understand how he could let him go in the first place.

But - it's alright, he's here to fix this mess he made, he just needs Patrick.  He just needs to _speak_ to Patrick.

He gently disentangles himself from Crow, who just slumps into the booth and onto the nearest person, and steps forward. Patrick looks up from his Molson and blinks at him like he doesn't believe Jonny is really here, like he's had one too many.

"Patrick," Jonny say, and swallows, and starts again, "Pat, I need to talk to you."

Pat just looks at him, head cocked to one side, like a dog or something, and just kind of shrugs before he says, "All right, bro, sit down."

Crow crowds him down and in and he has to climb over Bollig ( _really?_ ) to get a space, because Bollig just smirks up at him like he does. Jonny wants to smash his face in for a second before he calms down and slides down next to Pat, who hooks an arm around the back of the booth.

Shawzy's just looking at them, back and forth and back and forth, even though they're not saying anything even though Jonny said that they needed to talk, suspicious to the end, until Saader comes back with a tray of shots and Bollig focuses on him instead.

"Toes!" he cries, and shoves the tray at him (because the world is _conspiring against him_ ) and he takes one of them, gingerly, thankful that they're just Jack because he doesn't think that Jägerbombs are a good idea right now.  He throws it back, because he doesn't want to make the guys awkward (they don't need to be a part of this clusterfuck, that's for sure) and grits his teeth against the bite.

(His traitorous brain reminds him that _he and Pat are not subtle_ and he and Pat have been teammates forever, it seems.)

He feels Kaner's arm settle over his shoulder and it makes him squirm a little, remembering the bruises that dot his hips from where Pat was touching him last night, but he just plays with the empty shot glass for a bit, listening to Crow talk about the bachelorette party and how they're all gorgeous and how he misses his girlfriend and _why_  isn't she here, and who on the team should be here so he can set them up with any of the cute chemists, and how Saader just smiles at him fondly over the rim of his beer.

Pat's thumb presses into the dip of his collar where it's pulled and open (because he's still wearing the shirt from his suit, from earlier) and when Jonny looks at him, sideways, Pat just smiles, crooked and pleased.

Jonny remembers his mom singing _Non, je ne regrette rien_ whenever she was joyous about something all of a sudden, and it's so cliche, so _fucking cliche_ that it makes his mouth sour for a second, because how gross _is_ he, honestly?

And, it's not like Kaner even knows who Edith Piaf _is_ , or the song, because he listens to shitty music and has no fucking taste at all, so he's fucking safe from mockery when he leans in, mouth almost against Kaner's ear.

"Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien," he says, almost singing it, just enough of a pitch shift, and Kaner knows enough French from listening to their chirps and talking with Andrée that he should know what Jonny's on about.

When he pulls back, Kaner's face is flushed, just from Jonny talking to him, and Bollig is squinting at them because it's _them_ and they're not fucking _subtle_ , okay, and Kaner starts making excuses about needing to leave and Jonny being a freak about going over plays for the game tomorrow.

Jonny goes along with it and reminds them not to get too tanked, because _game_ and he won't go easy on them, and then they're back in the cold air outside and Kaner's hailing a cab for them without words, because he can be an adult when he needs to be.

Jonny doesn't talk the during the ride back to the hotel, just watches Pat get his ass kicked at Words With Friends (because Jonny got him started, and he's determined to beat Jonny someday, but now it's Bickell's wife Amanda that's handing him his ass, so his position at the top of the leaderboard is still secure).

(Even the _Swedes_ beat Patrick at Words With Friends.  It's almost sad.)

They tip the driver and the walk back up to the room is tense, just a little, and Jonny pushes Pat in to sit on the edge of the bed and paces back and forth in front of him, because he doesn't know what else to do.

Pat lets him because he know how Jonny gets and knows that this is hard for him, has to be.  So he waits.

And Jonny just stops after a bit, just in front of Pat, and his jaw works with something and it's like he doesn't know which words to let go first, so Pat just waits, waits, until -

Until Jonny opens his mouth, and says, "You complete _fucker_ , I love you _so much_ ," and socks him right in the collarbone before grabbing Pat by the ears and going down on his knees to kiss him.

And Pat kisses back, enthusiastic, like he is in all things (winning games, making dinner, bothering Jonny). Jonny luxuriates in the play of their tongues. If Pat's response is anything to go by there will be evenings spent necking on a couch while the tv is on low in his future. He can't wait.

Pat knows his weakness now (Pat has always known them, this one is just _new_ ) so it's no surprise when he detaches himself from Jonny's lips and proceeds to rub himself cheek to cheek with him and down his neck.

Jonny feels like he's _vibrating_.

There, in the dip between Jonny's shoulder and neck, Pat starts to speak.

"I love you too, you shit, and it's not the shots speaking.  I swear it's not. What I don't get is why you didn't say something this morning.  Why didn't you? You were using those lazer eyes, giving me 'fuck you' vibes all day," Pat says, shifting back to look at him again but now Jonny is the nervous one.

He swallows, tries to mend fences. "I panicked, I guess? You weren't all - all fucking _beardy_ when I saw you in Buffalo, and then you had that beard and suddenly you stopped looking like you sneezed into a bag of Doritos and I couldn't stand it at all!"

Pat looks like he'd be laughing at him if he could, so Jonny figures he's going in the right direction and continues. "I couldn't stop jerking off to you, it was like I was a teenager again." Pat smiles and looks like he's going to say something shifty so Jonny adds "Shut up, I'm not done. And then - then you noticed and used it against me! Like you could _win_ me, like I was a game."

"And _that_ was why you were sulking this morning," Pat says and shakes his head. "I guess that makes sense, sort of, if you apply weird Tazer logic. But because I'm a _better_ and _more generous_ person than you, I'll let it slide for now."

Jonny yelps like he is offended which he totally _is,_ dammit, but Pat is faster and hushes him, nosing along the curve of his cheekbone until he's talking against Jonny's ear. "FYI, dude, I totally win at playing you, but only in the good way. And since I had to wait so long, and put up with your shit, I'm going to continue to play with you. All. Night. Long."

Pat tweaks Jonny's nipple through his shirt and listens to the hitch in his voice.

"Oh," Jonny manages, cheeks pinking, because this Kaner - the one that is going to _own_ him and normally he's the one calling the shots but if Pat wants to - _jesus_ , he totally can.

Pat lifts an eyebrow and Jonny realizes that he hasn't answered but he shouldn't have to, because Pat should _know_ , but Pat would want a verbal answer.

"Yeah," he breathes, and Pat grins at him, all straight teeth and whiskers and fuck him _so hard_ , how is this his _life_.

"Good," Pat says, and tugs Jonny up onto the bed so he can kiss him without leaning down and Pat tastes like Jack Daniels and Coke, which, okay, shouldn't be as good as it is.

He's warm and real and they're going to do this _right_ , because they have to, because Jonny's wanted him since that first Cup win, since he fell to his knees and Pat was pouring beer in his mouth, since the first time Pat came to Winnipeg, since _forever_.

Pat pulls away too soon, way too soon, but Jonny goes when Pat nudges him up the bed, back onto the pillows like some kind of king.

But Pat doesn't follow and Jonny can feel his face falling because he wants Pat _next to him_ , on the bed and like they were the other night.  But Pat doesn't look like he's going to leave him stranded, even though Jonny deserves it after treating Pat like he has.

Pat strips the tie from around his neck and tosses it on the desk and Jonny is reminded then that Pat seems slight and unassuming, just because Jonny is tall, but Pat is - Pat is a _hockey player_ just like him, and he knows how to use his body, knows how to use it against him, and Pat looks completely prepared to do so.

Pat manages to get his shirt unbuttoned to the middle before Jonny gets his name out on a breath and it sounds desperate and needy, but Jonny doesn't even care because this is Pat, this is the guy that has been with him through thick and thin, though _everything_.

"Yeah, I know, Jonny," Pat says, but he doesn't speed up, just keeps stripping slowly, obviously content to get Jonny worked up, begging for him, just like he was last night - only this time, Jonny doesn't even have his _pants off_ yet.

Pat is methodically stripping off his socks and then his pants and Jonny knows he's doing it just because he likes fucking with Jonny until he loses his composure. Which he will hopefully _literally_ do later and - _tabarnak,_ _how does this get him so hot?_

Pat is finally down to his boxers and crawls over to him, and now that Jonny is only half propped up on the pillows, Pat towers over him on his knees and isn't _that_ an interesting position to be in.

Jonny's throat is suddenly dry, barely able to swallow while Pat leans in close. His deft fingers start opening up Jonny's dress shirt, sometimes skimming his fingertips over his bare skin, and goosebumps follow in their wake, but mostly he sticks to the clothing.

"You're so impatient, I thought you would come and undress me yourself," he whispers, "did you know you were clenching your fists so hard you were shaking? Jesus, Jonny. I wouldn't have minded much, you know? But you didn't, you actually listened to me for once. You've been so good, so patient; I think you deserve a reward. Let me take care of you tonight, yeah? Don't worry, not anymore."

That works for him, somehow. He would normally protest, fight against someone leading him, but this is _Pat_. It's okay, since it's Pat.  It's more than okay.

He nods and just focuses on enjoying himself, letting Pat undo all the buttons, letting him move his arms around like he's a giant doll until his shirt is finally off.  Pat lets him get his own undershirt off while he starts in on Jonny's pants. His touch is light and sure as he guides Jonny to get his pants off; first to lift his hips and then each leg upwards to get them off completely.  His boxers go with his pants.  Pat could just leave his socks, because Jonny wouldn't mind, but Pat stretches his leg up and almost over Pats shoulder to get to his socks, hand sure on his calf, stretching, pulling.  The movement gets Jonny's ass open, showing the red from Pat's own goddamn beard, but he lowers each leg with the same care, not making a move to touch Jonny how _Jonny_ wants.

It hits him that he's totally okay with that.

"You good?" Pat asks when he done with undressing him and by then Jonny feels stupidly secure and sure in the knowledge that Pat is going to be in charge tonight and he doesn't have to worry about anything. He smiles up at him and cuddles a bit more into the pillow pile behind him (because Pat is stupid and needs a million pillows to sleep even though he only uses, like, _one_ ).

And Pat - Pat just fucking goes to _town_ on him. He starts off with his chest, rubbing his beard all over it while he holds Jonny down at his waist, fitting his fingers into the previous bruises. It's light, just teasing scratching but soon it looks like Jonny fell into a bunch of stinging nettles, raw and _perfect_. Pat rubs his hands over the redness like he's a little sorry, so Jonny forgives him, but since Jonny _likes_ looking like this, it doesn't really matter in the long run. That and the fact that Pat's started to suck and nip at his chest, starting at his collarbones but soon zeroing in on his nipples.

Jonny has stared at that pair of lips before, seeing Pat lick them until they were a shiny red because he's fucking stupid and doesn't take stock in chapstick, or seeing them grin around a mouthguard or a pen or a fork or fucking _whatever_. Jonny has jerked off to the image of them wrapped around his cock, sure, but he's sure other guys on the team have as well, at least the ones that are even a _little_ into guys. Maybe even ones that aren't all that into guys.

He hasn't been giving them justice in his fantasies _at all_. Pat sucks on his nipple like he was born to do it, pressing his thumbnail slightly into the other. His tongue dips in and out from time to time, teasing and soothing, while his teeth clamp lightly into the flesh, making Jonny let out a noise that he's never heard before, stupid with want.

Jonny's in so much trouble.

He knows Pat has an oral fixation - hell, the entire _NHL knows_ that Pat has a thing about needing things in his mouth - but Jonny's never thought that someday it would _actually_ involve him, because come on, really?

He learned at a young age that if you were attracted to someone that you were playing with, you don't focus on them, because in that direction lies madness.  Also, popping semis in the shower is hard to explain, especially if it happens all the time.

And, it's not like he doesn't know what he likes; shit, most of time, if it works on chicks, it'll work on dudes, so Jonny _knows_ what he likes.  The first guy he was ever with figured out that Jonny liked his nipples messed with, and Pat has figured it out as well.

That _bastard_.  Pat's got him clutching at his head, fingers twisted in his hair and trying to hold Pat down, because _jesus_ the combination of Pat and his mouth and his stupid fucking beard has him trying to rub his cock against the jut of Pat's hip, but Pat won't let him because he's some kind of sadistic freak.

"Pat," he moans, "come on, Pat."

And Pat does completely the opposite of what he wants - Pat _pulls away_ , balanced on Jonny's shins, eyebrow quirked.

"I told you to relax, dude.  Can't take care of you if you're trying to suffocate me against your chest," Pat says, then tilts his head like he's considering something, and adds, "but I guess it wouldn't be a bad way to die, bro."

Jonny is going to quip something witty but his mouth dries up and all he manages is "Shut the fuck up and get back here," which makes Pat laugh but listen all the same.

He settles on top of Jonny's thighs, and when he leans forward Jonny meets him halfway for the kiss, and it's unexpected how sweet it is, how slow, like Jonny's someone to take care of and keep - _shit_.  It makes him relax back into the pillows, Pat following him, settling down onto Jonny's side like he was made to be there, like he was made to be next to him.

The thought makes Jonny shiver as Pat's beard rasps against his cheek as Pat pulls away to rub against his face, just a moment, before he leans back in and whispers against Jonny's ear.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Tazer," he says, and it's deep and raspy and Jonny never knew that Pat could be like this, but then he never gave him the chance, either.

"Please," Jonny answers, because fucking _shit_ fuck, yes, god, please, he needs that like he needs to breathe.

Pat is too fucking smug for his own goddamn good.

"Fuck," Pat whispers and Jonny can almost believe that going slow and sweet is destroying Pat just as much as it's fucking _wrecking_ him.

Only - he isn't doing anything about it, and Jonny wants to know _why_ , until Pat begins to whisper again, raw and amazing.

"You want me to bend you over right now and fuck you 'til you're raw? Finger you until you scream and then past that, 'til you can't scream because you've lost your voice? Fuck you bare, 'cause you want it, and let me come in you until you're leaking and can't hold it in? You want that, Jonny?" Pat asks.

And Jonny nods as hard as he can, because shit, _shit_ yeah he does want that, almost getting dizzy from the motion because yeah, he wants that, all of that, so much and at the same time it's not nearly enough. He wants everything Pat has to offer, and wants to take whatever he's given.

"Too bad," he says, lightly, "because you're getting none of that today, Jonny."

And Pat, that sadistic _fuckface_ , kisses him just as deep and gently as before. It would be so easy to roll him over and get on top of him and grind down but that's not what Jonny wants.

Why does he even like Pat?

(His stupid brain tells him this _is_ why he likes Pat. _Marde_.)

Pat's terrible beard and his terrible kisses move on from his lips across his cheek, open-mouthed and wet, leaving a trail to his ear.

(They're not terrible.)

Pat has a hand around his waist, but it slides lower and lower until it rests on his thigh and begins to coax them open, spread wide, and Jonny is _so willing_ to do that.

Jonny doesn't really notice that at all, though, because Pat is breathing soft hot puffs of air against his skin, over the spots his tongue has already travelled over and deemed good. His beard is scratching that spot behind his ear as Pat noses into his hairline, presses little kisses there, and Jonny thinks he can't be more turned on than this. 

It's not possible.

That is, it's impossible until Pat takes his earlobe between his teeth and bites down, straddling the line between gentle and hard.

Jonny can feel his face and ears burning up and he's probably flushed like a lobster, bright fever red all over, and he lets his head fall back on Pat's stupid fucking pillows, eyelids fluttering.

He's not sure how he's even able to stay upright, even though the pillows are helping, and not slump over in an uncontrollable heap but the answer is _Pat._

It's _always_ Pat, whether he needs to be reassured that he can do a good job as captain or be yelled at because he hid a _fucking concussion you stupid fucking asshole_ and totalled his car.

And it's more than that and it always has been, because when he needs someone to forgive him because he can't forgive himself, it's Pat.

There’s nothing holding him up expect the arm around him, stroking the skin on his thigh, and the shoulder he leans against, and he knows Pat won't let him fall.

Pat won't _ever_ let him fall.

Pat tightens his hand on his thigh and that pulls Jonny out of his head and back to Pat, nearly naked and warm against him. "So, this is nice and all, but please tell me you have some lube?"

"Christ, Pat, I was having a _moment_ ," Jonny bitches, but it's not like Pat's in his head and listening, or anything, so he can't blame him.

But Pat's used to him being lost inside his own head so he doesn't give him shit for it, just leans forward and busses a kiss against his temple.  "You can have your moment after I fuck you," he says.

Jonny lets his eyebrows turn down, because _yeah_ , he's into that, but, "You said you weren't going to fuck me."

"No," Pat says, drawing out the vowel as he clambers off the bed and starts to rummage around in Jonny's bag without asking, "I said I wasn't going to fuck you dirty.  I'm still gonna fuck you."

"Oh," Jonny says, small, "really?"

Pat pulls the bottle of lube from his bag, quirking an eyebrow because it's half used (shut _up_ , Patrick) but he gets serious as he turns to look at Jonny.

"Yeah, Jesus. I'm not going to leave you hanging, Jonny, shit. Is that - that _is_ what you thought, isn't it."  It's not a question. "I've finally _got_ you, dude, I'm not gonna leave you desperate unless you want me to."

"Oh," Jonny says again, because his vocabulary has dumbed itself down to "oh" and "Pat" and "please."

"You're so fucking dumb," Pat tells him fondly, lobbing the bottle of lube onto the bed and shimmying out of his boxers.  He stops at the edge of the bed, hands on his hips, and Jonny could look at him forever, the planes of his chest and swell of his biceps, how his waist tapers and he can't stop himself from focusing on Pat's dick and how much he wants to get his hands on that because Pat didn't let him before, and he's _going_ to, whether he has to hold Pat down and blow him or whatever.

Yeah, he's gonna ride that. So many times.

"So, I'm gonna fuck you, and you're gonna like it, and then afterwards you can have your moment and we can use our words, even though the whole goddamn world knows you suck at it." He kneels on the edge of the bed and crawls up Jonny's legs, hovering over his knees, hands at Jonny's hips. "And it's gonna be like this, okay?"

"Yeah, please," Jonny says, and Pat grins like he's been given Christmas early.

He grins but then turns serious, looking at Jonny dead on, eyes open like Jonny hasn't ever seen before, not even when they were moments away from winning the cup.

"Yo," he says, "I do love you, you know. Don't know why, though, you're such a shit. But I do."

Jonny flushes hot again, knows it's going from his face to his chest and all over the place.  "Yeah, I - me too."

Pat smiles like Jonny's given him the sun.

The only warning that Jonny gets is a rumbling, "Keep your hands to yourself."

A pillow is fit under his back, snatched from Pat's stupid pile - then Pat's hands are on his ass guiding him upwards - and the new angle leaves his ass and thighs exposed. He can feel the blush spreading from his face down his chest and blooming over his hips, because he can't control his own body.

Okay, no, he can, at least on the ice, but apparently, Pat's the wrench in the works that makes his body listen to _fuck_ all.  _Marde._

Pat pops the lube like it's toothpaste (and shit, it's the good "organic fair-trade" stuff Jonny bought because he likes the way it feels, and it's not nearly as gross as some of the nasty shit they make, but if this fact goes beyond this room he's never going to live it down) and squirts some into his palm, like he's testing it.

"You're so fucking fancy, Jonny," Pat says, but he leans down to kiss Jonny once more before he drops the lube to the side and slicks his hands with it, because _of-fucking-course_ he is not going to be careful with Jonny's lube. Bastard.

Jonny clings to his pillows and tries not to think about how hard is cock is or how hard Pat's cock is. This "no touching" rule is Pat's most sadistic idea yet, but Jonny never has backed down from any challenge and he won't start now.

(That's including the summer that they had stayed in the city, and Kaner had said "Dude, let's go running," and it was almost _90_ out, and by the time they made it back to Jonny's apartment, they were burnt to crisps as well as suffering from heatstroke.  It was, admittedly, a good workout. That's not the point.)

Pat leans down and kisses him again, and in that moment Pat starts fingering him, flexing slowly inside him.  It's pure torture, the way Pat takes his time and is thorough and careful where he wasn't the night before. Yesterday - yesterday it was like Pat couldn't wait to get his hands and mouth on him, as if Jonny would pop like a bubble the moment he hesitated, the moment he stopped. Now it's like since he's sure that Jonny won't go, that Jonny will stay because Pat has him and can keep him and _wants_ to keep him, he can take his time no matter how long Jonny has to wait.

Maybe he could finger Pat the next time they do this? Pat would like that, he knows that he would; maybe one hand in Pat's ass, one in his mouth, keeping his mouth occupied as Jonny goes to _town._ Keeping his hands still becomes harder and harder each second.

"C'mon, c'mon, Pat, c'mon," he tries.  Pat shudders but doesn't change the pace.

"Slow and steady wins the race, right? That's what you always tell me, so shouldn't you be an expert in that, Jonathan?" he teases but his voice is rough, like he downed a bottle of whiskey and smoked a pack of cigarettes (which he wouldn't do, because he's heard Jonny's tirade on smoking and what it does for his health). His free hand pats Jonny's thigh and then strokes along it, leaving a glistening trail of lube. "Just a little more, I promise. I'll be done soon."

"You say the same whenever I have to drag you out of the hotel showers before you miss breakfast. I'm not sure I can wait that long," Jonny says, because he doesn't _whine_ , he's not _whining._ If there ever was a time for whining, though, it's now. He looks at Pat and tries to get him to see how desperate he feels, how much he _wants_.

Pat's blown black pupils look right back at him.

That is absolutely _it_ , seriously.  He manages to wind a leg around Pat's thighs, heel digging into the back of his leg, and the movement jolts Pat's fingers right against his prostate and he _shouts_ with it, because _fuck_ , he can never get that deep with his fingers.

"Please, Patrick, I need you," and this time he'll admit that he's whining, arching his back showing his throat, presenting himself to Pat as two fingers turn to three and Pat shudders against his knee.

"You want it?" Pat asks, licking his lips, and it used to bother Jonny but now it doesn't, and it won't again. (Well, okay, maybe.)

He can't even form words to answer, just nods head and squirms a little, shifting his hips back and forth on Pat's fingers like he can try and get Pat to move faster, but Pat doesn't, just watches him like he can't get enough.

"I know you do," Pat mumbles, and his eyes drop to where he must be able to see his fingers stretching Johnny wide, so obscene, and when he continues talking it's like he's not even talking for Jonny, just to talk, just to get it out.

"You look good like this, I can't even imagine how you're gonna look on my cock," Pat tells him, bending forward to almost speak into Jonny's shoulder and moving forward on his knees until Jonny's thighs bracket his hips, stretching him wide.  "I bet you've gotten off thinking about it, huh?  How you'd be spread and pinned, fuckin' _sloppy_ with it?"

Jonny wants to get his hands on Pat's shoulders, pull him close, tug him down, but Pat told him to keep his hands away, so he will, but he doesn't have to _like_ it. "Yeah, Pat, I did."

Pat grins down at him, twisting and dragging his fingers, pulling at the rim of his hole.

"I _knew_ it, knew that my dick did it for you," he says, "even before this season, whatever, when you would think I was asleep and fuck yourself on your fingers in the bed next to mine, fuckin' wet and sloppy with it, and I'd roll over and you'd stop until you were sure I was asleep, your ass in the air and your fingers jammed inside of you."

It makes Jonny blush red-hot and knows _exactly_ what Pat is talking about, those nights away from home and away from his vibrator, when Pat would pass out long before him and Jonny would give himself what he needed, some faceless guy giving it to him in his head, but it was _always_ Pat, no matter how much he doesn't want to admit it.

Pat gives him a fourth finger that Jonny is _sure_ that he doesn't need and continues talking. "I could hear you, night after night, and I didn't know if it was me you wanted, so I just laid there and listened and watched, watched you pant and move and _fuck_ , Jonny, if I would have known I'd have been fucking you ages ago, gotten you on my cock 'til you cried, held you down and fucked you full like you want. I would have just gotten out of bed and fucked you then, if I would have known."

Pat grins, all teeth, sweat dripping down his temple, and Jonny knows this look because he's seen it a million times, off the ice and on, and it means that someone's going to get _wrecked_ , and this time - this time, Jonny knows that it's _him._

"But now I do, so I'm gonna," Pat says, and slips his fingers out and Jonny can't suppress the moan of Pat's name, ridiculously needy and thin.  Pat shushes him, bends him near in half to kiss him and nose his way up Jonny's jaw to his temple.  "Do you want me to get a condom?"

"Fuck you, no, don't you fucking dare," Jonny manages, "since I know you're clean and I don't have sex with people, if you move I'll punch you right in your fucking face."

"Jesus, Jonny, all right," Pat breathes, "I needed to check."

It makes his mind settle, Pat saying that, asking, because he wants Jonny to be happy, he wants Jonny to be comfortable and shit, but if Pat doesn't fuck him at least a little messy, it would be a _complete_ loss.  He knows they _should_ , but if Jonny has his way it won't be a _federal fucking issue_ because Pat _won't be fucking anyone else_.

Well, that's unexpected.

It doesn't matter, though, he'll come back to it, because Pat moves Jonny's hips with sticky hands and then - then, shit, he's pressing his cock in, and Jonny doesn't know how he's not splitting apart at the seams, how he isn't unraveling and spilling out all over the place because Pat can wreck him, Pat's the only one who has _ever_ been able to, and Jonny loves him, loves him so much, can't stop his hands from unclenching the pillow and wrapping around Pat's shoulders.

Pat lets him, because Pat _knows_.

Pat stops mid-thrust, hands wrapped around Jonny's waist and smiles, sighing softly, and his words run together without stopping. "Ok, Jonny, I get it, you can touch, you need to touch, you've been so good for me so it's ok, don't worry."

Jonny isn't even worried about that, not really, because all he's thinking about is that Pat _stopped fucking him_ and he's not even _filled_ him yet. Maybe they won't break the bed tonight, which is a good thing as it's not their bed, but as much as it pains him to admit it isn't even _about_ that. Tonight should be about Pat filling him, laying him open and finding every secret in his body and letting Pat see.  That's the basis of what Jonny is willing to give him, the very bottom, and there's so much _more_ after that.

(And maybe convincing him that a slow fuck is not the end all be all, and that dirty bed gymnastics are still an option for Jonny.)

Pat seemed to be down for all of that until _he stopped moving._ Which is _not cool_.

There's a lot that Jonny can take, not just physical abuse on the ice but also the _worst_ chirps both on and off the ice with stoic confidence but this is where he draws the line. And Pat, Pat who seemed so in control until now, gave him permission to touch; because Jonny was good and because Pat always knows what Jonny needs.

So Jonny, because Pat isn't moving and because he knows how to get Pat back with the program, gets a better grip on the shoulders under his hands and starts working himself down on the rest of Pat's dick, slow and steady. It's harder than with a dildo, because Pat doesn’t have a base he can grab; Pat is a whole human and he is hard to maneuver if he doesn't want to be. But right now he's only gasping and pressing out sweet broken moans while Jonny pumps his hips to take him deeper.

The friction is delicious, all stretch and burn and Jonny can feel himself clenching around Pat, so eager and greedy for more.  He's not greedy in many things, but in this, with Pat, he _can_ be.

Then Pat snaps his hips forward, finally coming back to help and get them together. All Jonny can do is let his head fall back on the pillow and let Pat take control of their motions again, now that Pat's back with the program, as it were.

Above him he can see Pat licking his lips and face slicked with sweat. They have a rhythm now, a mercilessly slow drag and a carefully controlled rut. There's not as much speed as Jonny usually likes when he's face down on his bed and working a vibrator in and out of himself, panting and rocking the bed enough to hear it squeak and squeal under him.

But Pat makes up for some off it with penetrating deep each time, scraping along Jonny's prostrate to make him shudder and writhe under him; he can feel the power in Pat's hips, dormant now, until next time. The depth that Pat gives him is _delicious_.  One of Pat's hands wander from Jonny's waist to his ass, caressing at first, then squeezing and making his cheeks jiggle.

Jonny would be embarrassed, but Pat's words against his skin take all that away.

"Yeah, get it, Jonny. You and your fabulous ass are getting what you deserve tonight," Pat says, and his fingers skitter around more, spreading his cheeks open to give more access and then - he feels the press of finger against where they're joined, and Pat lightly teases his rim with his nails.

There's nothing Jonny can say because he has already lost his grasp on English and French; he doesn't even know if he nods at how good it feels to have Pat's hands massage his ass but mostly he's moaning helplessly.

Pat smiles and his eyes crinkle (just like they do whenever someone mentions his family or he's talking about his sisters and it makes Jonny think that _fuck_ , they could be a family, they _could_ , because don't families start with two?) and he pants out, "Yeah, Jonny, gonna take care of you tonight, I promised and I keep promises. You know that, right? Can't complain right now, can you, I'm taking care of you, keepin' my promises."

Jonny can't even form words, much less say something on par with Pat, because Pat is fucking _unnatural_ in that he can't ever fucking shut up, even when he's taking Jonny apart at the seams.

"Oh," Jonny moans, "please," and he doesn't even know what he's asking for, much less what he needs, but Pat'll know, Pat will give that to him.

"Please what, babe? Tell me," Pat demands, shifting both hands to grab at his ass, slowing his thrusts, knowing that it'll take Jonny apart.

Jonny can't answer through, can't figure out how to make his tongue work around his teeth, lost in feelings and sensation, lost in _Pat_.

Pat, though, Pat _stops_ , again, takes control of Jonny's legs and Jonny thinks that Pat'll put them over his shoulders (which would push his flexibility, for sure) but Pat pushes his right leg up and over, both legs on one side now, and Jonny squirms because the new position has him shifting to his side, more vulnerable than before, but Pat can go _deeper_ now.

"Tell me," Pat repeats, pushing Jonny's knees closer to his chest, easier now that he's not flat on his back.  It makes Jonny's cock jump, that Pat can manhandle him like this, _shit_ , because no one has ever tried before, no one has wanted to make Jonny obey like Pat can.

Pat pumps his hips, leisurely, easy in his pleasure, and Jonny knows that Pat will take his time.  Pat has ridiculous restraint when he wants to, it's just that he very rarely wants to use it.

"We've got all night, babe, I can wait," Pat sing-songs, teasing and pleased, fucking him slowly, just enough friction that Jonny could come if he got a hand around his cock, but he doesn't want to stop touching Pat.  When Jonny doesn't answer, Pat lifts his hand and lets it come down, _hard_ , on the meat of Jonny's ass.

It surprises him and makes his back bow out, shoving himself down onto Pat's dick, and Pat stills and Jonny _knows_ that Pat thinks that he's hurt him, but it's the exact opposite.

" _Fuck_ ," Jonny gasps, "again," and Pat listens without hesitation and lays another hit on him, gasping himself when the connecting hit makes Jonny tighten around him and from there all bets are off.

Jonny loops his arm around Pat's neck, pulling him closer, making it harder for Pat to get long thrusts in but he makes up for it with the power of them.  There's no rhythm to when Pat decides to lift his hand and bring it down on his ass, his hips, his thighs, but Jonny doesn't _want_ one; he wants it just like this.

"Please," he manages, lost in the midst of it, feeling the muscles of Pat's arm shaking where he holds Jonny's legs, "Pat, please, I _need_ you."

"I've got you," Pat answers, and Jonny believes him, more than he has ever believed anything before, more than when Pat told him they would win the Cup, more than when his dad told him that he would get drafted to the Blackhawks, more than when his mother told him that he'd be happy, someday.

Jonny arches his back and unclenches his hand from the sheets, twines it with the hand that Pat has wrapped around his knees, lets him mouth drop open and let everything wash over him.  He knows he's making embarrassing breathy noises but he doesn't care because Pat doesn't care, Pat doesn't care that he can't hold it in any longer.

"Love you, Pat, god," he breathes, and Pat laughs against his skin because he's so pleased with Jonny, pleased with whatever Jonny wants to give him.

"I love you too, babe," Pat says, moving his fingers over the curve of Jonny's spine, down the slope of his ass to press again at his hole, sticky and slick, and he slips one finger in alongside his cock and it sends Jonny over the edge, the edge that he didn't even know he was _close_ to.

He whimpers through it, straining against Pat's arm and _god_ , he's never come untouched like this and he doesn't know if it's because of the buildup, the anticipation, or if it's because it's _Pat_.

(It's probably because it's Pat.)

"Yeah, yeah, god, _Pat,_ " ekes through his lips because it's so good, so perfect, even though he had wanted to last longer for Pat, wanted him to fuck him all night long until they were coming dry.

Pat moves like he's going to pull out, come all over him, but Jonny _whines_ , holds him close and says, "No, I like it, I like it, _use_ me," and Pat _does._

Pat begins moving faster, hips pumping frantic and breaking the rhythm they had before, as if now that Jonny has come Pat doesn't need to hold back anymore. His finger is still inside, catching on the rim of Jonny's hole and stretching him even though he's loose and relaxed from coming.

He had thought this night couldn't get hotter but somehow it always does, and Pat keeps taking him by surprise. Having Pat fuck him fast and hard, his hand clenching on his knee while the other is buried between him is almost too much. Jonny wishes he could get it up again, _right now,_ and not have to get what he wants only when he can't get the most out of the pleasure.

Above him Pat's face is slack, his eyes shut and wrinkles on his brow, that damned mouth open with moans. He looks lost in his pleasure, like he's not paying any attention to how Jonny feels (even though it's not true, because Jonny had to _beg_ ), just using him to get off.

The thought sends another shudder through him, making his muscles seize and his toes twitch, even though he's hanging limp in Pat's arm. Pat tightens his grip around them reassuringly and hoists Jonny's ass up again. The only thing that Jonny can control are his arms and he just clings to Pat's shoulder, making embarrassing noises; everything else is under Pat's control, and only moves when he wants it to move.

So Jonny uses the only thing he can and clenches his fingers, digs them into muscle to make sure Pat knows how he feels (if he hasn't figured it out already). He wants to leave marks, wants to remind Pat who did this and who he was fucking so he can look forward to doing this again and again and again. He wants bright red stripes to mar Pat's shoulders, half-moons to dot his skin where his nails bit in; he wants marks that Sharpy and the others will chirp Pat about when he comes into the locker room. He wants Pat to give him the same (maybe more, always more, because Jonny's greedy).  Maybe Pat will blush and say nothing, trying to keep it a secret.

Or maybe - maybe not. Maybe he'll smirk and brag about how he fucked Jonny silly and how he's going to do it again as soon as they have time. Maybe he'll tell all the guys how good Jonny was, how loud he moaned, how he let Pat manhandle him completely for his pleasure and how much he _enjoyed_ letting Pat do whatever he wanted to him.

Just the thought of Pat talking like that makes him pant harder and moan every time Pat's hips meet his skin, even though he's _so fucking sensitive_ and he knows that he can't get it up again this soon. He's not sure he could ever look anyone on the team into the eyes again, but the idea of Pat bragging and praising him in front of him to the entire dressing room makes him feel hot.

"You ever think about showing me off?" he asks.

Pat groans and buries his face into Jonny's shoulder; his back shakes and quivers under Jonny's palms as he comes. He breathes for a bit, not making to move, until he slowly pulls out.

"Fuck, Jonny, you _kill_ me," he whispers against his face.

Jonny can feel Pat's come trickling out of him, slowly, down his crack and his cheeks. He can't help moaning when it meets the hot flush where Pat spanked him. It doesn't hurt, but - it's so _good_.

It feels like a loss, not having anything to fill him, and he doesn't know how he ever did without it, without Pat. Now that he's slowly coming down from Patrick-induced high he feels gross; he knows that he's flushed all over, ass cheeks burning, the smell of sweat and come laid over the room like a fog and come splattered all over.

Pat doesn't seem to notice (or care) that Jonny is a sticky, filthy mess. He sets down Jonny's legs slowly because he knows how Jonny gets muscle spasms, and then starts petting Jonny as if _Jonny_ did all the work tonight and needs the praise. His other arm slings around Jonny's waist and tucks him against Pat's chest, their legs tangling together.

(Jonny is not going to complain about Pat wanting to cuddle.  Jonny fucking _loves_ it.)

Jonny feels so heavy, so _done_ but in the best way, after all of this and he's so glad that Pat takes charge here again, cuddling him and breathing steadily into his ear. He counts the soft puffs of air against his neck to calm down.

He hears a swallow from behind him and he knows that Pat's going to speak.  He knows Pat's tells.

"Did you mean that?" Pat asks, voice shaky.

Jonny doesn't know how to use words right away, so he mulls the question over for a moment. "Mean what?"

Pat stills behind him. "About - about showing you off."

"Mmm," Jonny hums, content in the warmth of Pat behind him, how he can feel his every breath and - if he concentrates hard enough - the beat of his heart. "Yeah. Every word."

"God, Jonny, _really_?"

Jonny wants to turn and face him, because this feels _important_ , monumental, but Pat tightens his hold and Jonny relaxes.  Pat's nervous, or scared, and he can't let Jonny see him right now.  Jonny gets it; he really does.

"Pat," he says, "really."

Pat's _shaking_ , muscles trembling finely and Jonny has never seen (or felt) him react like something to this, all sensations and no words and it makes Jonny nervous himself.  He shifts backwards, tries to get as close to Pat as possible and Pat holds him tighter, crushing him against his chest, limb to limb.

"I never thought - I didn't think that you'd _want_ \- I don't care about what people say, but I didn't think that you would want to be public," Pat says, and his voice is shaky again, wavering.

" _Pat_ ," he says, and his own voice is thin, because he doesn't _ever_ want Pat to feel like this, _shit_ , how could he let Pat think any of this?

"I don't wanna be a secret," Pat whispers, pressing his mouth against Jonny's shoulder before continuing. "I'm shit at secrets."

"You're just shit," Jonny mumbles, and it gets a laugh out of Pat, which was what Jonny was going for, and it makes him feel better. "I'm serious, though. Show me off. I like it."

"You like a lot of things," Pat responds, "but I never know when you mean it."

"No," Jonny says, and even the force of it surprises him. "I want people to know.  I don't want to go to bars and have to fend off puckbunnies.  I don't want people to ask me if there are romantic prospects on my horizon. I want the guys to look at our bruises and know where they came from, okay? I want that."

Pat makes a sweet, wordless noise and cuddles closer, mindless of how filthy they are, and presses kisses to Jonny's shoulder, rubbing his beard along after them.

When he finally speaks again, Jonny's almost drifted off to sleep.

"What else do you want?" Pat's voice is going deeper again, husky from praising Jonny all night.

And suddenly, all thought of sleep has vanished. His throat feels rough and that makes _no_ sense, because he didn't even suck dick tonight, never even got a chance to get his mouth _near_ Pat.

"I want to do this all the way. Not just doing low profile dates when we're not in Chicago, make it seem like we're hanging out. I wanna come out together someday. Tell the guys in the dressing room, Stan and Coach Q, the press, everyone. Maybe tell our families first. The white picket fence thing, with a dog and 2.5 kids. If you want kids. We don't have to, but that would be cool, kids to teach hockey to. Yeah."

Pat is already giggling into his back and Jonny half-heartedly kicks him in the calf. He was laying out his deepest feelings here, ok? Basically proposed and scribbled _5-eva_ next to their names. And Pat thinks it's ok to giggle at him even if he can't use his words and it came out awkward?

"I'm down with all of that. Coming out, picket fences, whatever. Though I'm not sure what we would do with half a child. I'm not a doctor but that doesn't sound healthy, Jonathan."

Patrick Kane is _the worst_ and Jonny will not continue to spoon with him. Only Kaner could ruin spooning with stupid jokes.

He tries to wriggle out of Pat's hold but Pat tightens his arms and tangles their legs together even more. He's like an overgrown octopus. "Let go, Pat!"

Pat does let him loose but Jonny decides he can stay for a bit longer, at least until Pat has apologized to him because he refuses to leave without one. He's not staying because Pat is warm and comfortable, but out of _principle_.

(That's his story and he's sticking to it.)

"Hey, Jonny, babe, I'm sorry. I was just joking, don't be mad. You're hot when you sulk, but I wanted to enjoy the afterglow with you for a while," Pat says, his hand petting along his flank as if he's trying to calm Jonny down.

"I don't sulk," Jonny says.  He has to protest here, because it's not true _at all_.

(Maybe a little true.)

"But, we can do afterglow if you want, and talk about children and coming out later."

Pat keeps rubbing his shoulder. And it's - nice. He gathers all his courage and speaks again.  "About earlier. About showing off. I didn't just mean coming out, you know."

Pat stops stroking him for a moment and then starts up again. He hums. "Go on."

If Jonny wasn't so nervous he would laugh about how much Pat sucks at sounding fake casual.

"You could show me off, like how good I'm for you? I know broke the ‘no touching’ thing today and maybe we can work on that. Together." Pat's breath hitches as he talks and Jonny would give anything to see his face. "Maybe for Sharpy or some other guys on the team? Or we could try a club? You could spread me and pin me down for everyone to see. To see that I let you. And that I want you to do stuff to me."

Pat has gone completely still behind him. Then he nuzzles his cheek again and whispers in his ear. "Yeah? What things? You have to tell me more if you want to make me understand what I should be doing. Tell me. You're so good at telling me what you want me to do on the ice, now tell me what you want to do _off_ it, babe."

Jonny is glad that Pat is pressing against him with his warm weight because he doesn't know if he could say any of this without him, or even if he could say it to his face right away. Pat sounds interested, and he's still here with Jonny in bed not freaking out, so there's _that_.

Of all the reactions he expected from Pat about telling him these things and saying that he sometimes needs to be on his knees or pinned down, this isn't what he expected. He's glad Pat is on board with this.  He's glad that Pat's listening now, quiet, not trying to make jokes.

"I want - I want to be good for you. You could show them how good I am. Just in general, but at doing things for you. Like blowing you, or fingering myself. I want to show how much I trust you. Let you lead me out naked, tie me up and do whatever you want. Tickle me or pinch my nipples until they burn, leave handprints on my skin. Make me cry. Just - let me be yours."

Pat's body at least seems to approve and Jonny lets himself have a second to marvel at Pat's refraction time of fucking _nil_ , because his half-hard dick against his ass is a pretty sure sign that Pat likes what he has to say.  But they need to finish talking first and Jonny needs to know that Pat's not going to run screaming from the room. "What do you think, Pat? Want to have me?"

"Jesus, Jonny," Pat says, his voice already dropping off again as he talks against Jonny's shoulder. "I thought you would be the one to call the shots in bed but I was pretty wrong about that, huh?"

Jonny snorts. "Just because I'll let you do stuff to me doesn't mean I'm not calling the shots, you fucker. Sorry I didn't fulfill your fantasies."

Pat is probably just kidding about that. He better be. He can't be serious about imaging _Jonny_ doing all that stuff to him.

"I'm hurt, Jonny, that sounds like you're just using me. Am I a blowup doll or something?" Pat whines into his ear, his voice slightly mocking, "Because I'm sure I would give better head and that I have a firmer ass, honestly."

Jonny reaches back with one hand and lands a swat on Pat's arm, because who thought they could let Pat out of the house?

He tries to offer a grudging compromise, because he doesn't want Pat to think that he doesn't want or won't want what Pat wants. "We can talk about that too, but later, I mean. When you finally tell me what you think of - of _owning_ me. Sometimes."

He tries to swallow his nervousness down while Pat leaves him hanging, even though the patterns that Pat is making with his fingers on his stomach is calming.

Pat sets his teeth into Jonny's shoulder softly, enough to leave vague red marks but nothing worth writing home about.  "I don't know if I'll be good at it."

Jonny lets out a breath, because that's not a no, that's just Pat being Pat.  He switches between thinking that he's God's gift to thinking that he's worthless. "You were _really_ good tonight."

"Oh yeah? How good?" Pat asks, and Jonny rolls his eyes, because now Pat's just looking for praise, looking for Jonny to shower him with it.  Pat shifts his arms around and gets one between Jonny's neck and the pillow, bent awkwardly to scratch lightly at Jonny's chest.  The other traces down his flank to his hips, pressing at the bruises there, fleeting touches over skin rubbed raw.

Pat's fingers slip between his cheeks and rub at his hole, wet and tender, and Jonny wants to pull away from Pat's wandering hand but he pushes back instead because he's never had impulse control when it comes to feeling good.

"I came without touching my cock," Jonny answers flatly, "so there's that."

"Think I could get you to come again?" Pat asks, sinking a finger into him without waiting, without asking, and it makes Jonny take a sharp breath.  For a second he almost tells Pat to stop but the sensation mellows from something close to pain to a warm ache, not pleasure yet but it _could_ be.

"Yeah?" Jonny says, but it's more of a question because he's never wanted to let someone get him to come again so soon; normally one good orgasm puts him out, but leave it to Pat to make him want _more_ , always more.

"I could pull one more out of you, I think.  I could," Pat says, finding Jonny's nipple and pinching it, playing with it until Jonny's squirming, trying to get away from Pat's hand but not _really_ , and it only pushes Pat's finger deeper inside him.

Jonny doesn't know what Pat wants him to day, because if Pat's trying to prove to himself or to _Jonny_ that he could be good for Jonny, _marde_ , Jonny knows without a doubt that Pat could be, that Pat _will_ be.

But, you know, if Pat wants to prove it to himself by making Jonny come all over himself, Jonny's not going to complain.

Nope.  He is not at all opposed to Pat-induced orgasms, not even a little bit.

Pat takes a deep breath and starts to talk again.

"I'd like to do this to you all the time, keep you on my cock for as long as you want.  You like it, you like having something inside of you, right? S'why you always came with your fingers in you," he mutters, licking up the sweat from the bend of Jonny's neck. "If you could have my dick in you all the time you would, I bet. Could get you a plug if you wanted it, keep you all good and filled."

Jonny is trying to will his dick into being interested again, because he'd really like to come again, especially if Pat's going to keep talking this _filthy shit_ at him, almost under his breath.

"Want to do this with you, be the only one to do this to you," Pat says as he gives Jonny a second finger, grunting before he continues, "god, Jonny, forever, whenever you want me to or whenever I want."

He can't help bucking into the fingers. "Yes, Pat, yes." He can feel them twisting slightly, scissoring him open even though he is already loose and easy. "Only you, wouldn't want this with anybody else, don't trust anyone else to do this right."

Jonny feels like he's going to explode but he still isn't getting hard. Just the thought of it, Pat filling him at night and making him wear a plug throughout the day sends new ( _different_ ) flushes down his chest. He's tried plugs before but they were boring, too much work to pull them in and out when he could work a vibrator into himself, kneel and stick it in his ass and crank it up. He's had amazing orgasms like that, but they're always fast and after he just goes to sleep. It's the efficiency he likes about it.

He can't imagine Pat being efficient in regards to sex.  He knows how Pat is normally, off and on the ice, in his house, in _Jonny's_ house, and Pat doesn't seem the type to change in bed. He knows that he can't predict what will come next, and that Pat will keep him on his toes, pulling shit out of his sleeve while Jonny tries (and fails, more likely) to keep up.

Jonny thinks he might like it better this way, teasing and slow instead of just focusing on getting off; having someone to share it with.

It's the thought of Pat knowing that he is wearing a plug and wearing it because _Pat told him to_ that he would try it again.  It would make for a whole new experience, partly because he never left it in for more than a few minutes (if it's not good, why bother?) so he never tried doing ordinary stuff while being - well, while being _filled_.

Pat's nuzzling his neck from behind and whispering again, too soft for Jonny to hear, until Pat says, "I love you. Want the next one?"

And Jonny can just nod, just will himself to stay open and relaxed for the third finger Pat works into him.

"You're doing so good like this, god, Jonny. I feel like I could slip them in one after another, you're so relaxed," he says, breathing fast in his ear. Jonny would feel competitive about having the slower refractory period, but he can't think of anything else but Pat filling him, making him work his hips and fitting perfectly inside him.

"I have no idea how much you could take. Not just how long, but how _thick_. I know I'm not that big, but we could get you some new dildos to see how much you can stretch. And maybe, if you want, I can get my whole fuckin' hand into you. How does that sound?"

The image in his head makes him squeeze his eyes shut and take a shuddering breath. "Fuck, Pat, you can't just say shit like that and then not do it. We could try right now, we _could_ , I'd let you, I could take it."

He tries to grab Pat's other hand on his hips but can't get it right away, but finally catches it after pawing in the general direction of his own hips. He clings to it. "You wanna work me up thinking about bed-breaking sex or fisting me and then you _won't_. You can't keep doing this. You _can't_ , I can't take it, don't tell me stuff you won't do anyway."

He's complaining and he knows it, he hates whining but he can't keep it in because Pat can't keep telling him all kinds of _awesome shit_ and then is _not doing it_.

"Jonny, I swear I'm not lying, when we get home we'll do it, I don't wanna hurt you during the season," Pat says but sounds just as ragged as Jonny but the kiss he presses against Jonny's neck makes him dream a bit that Pat will keep that promise.

"Promise," Jonny rasps, squeezing Pat's fingers as hard as he can.

"I fucking _promise_ ," Pat says, hard against the small of his back, "the first few days we have off, I'll tie you down and get my hand in you, but not before, because we're not fucking up this season."

"Ok,"Jonny responds, and decides that Pat sounds sincere and that Pat isn't going to renege on this particular promise.  Pat's making little abortive thrusts with this hips and Jonny's dick is just barely interested, nowhere near ready to come again (he probably won't), but Jonny wants Pat in him _right now_.

"Get in me," Jonny says, and Pat _freezes_ behind him, stunned, and Jonny repeats himself. "Get in me, Patrick."

"Um," Pat stutters, "but you're not -"

"Doesn't matter," Jonny interrupts, and hikes his left leg up as high as he can manage without letting go of Pat's hand, "get your cock in me."

"Jesus, fine, _bossy_ ," Pat snipes, and slides his cock into Jonny in one smooth thrust and it doesn't even - like, Jonny's loose and ready and it's not even _difficult_ this time, and Jonny _loves it_.

He wants to come, but at the same time it's not nearly as important for him to come as it is for _Pat_ to come because he's going to get messy no matter if Pat planned on it or not.

(Jonny always gets his way. If he has to be sneaky about it, well, so what?)

Pat sucks marks into his skin as he fucks him, his thrusts more sloppy than they were last time ( _last time_ , it was like a half hour ago) but Jonny's actually letting Pat do what he wants this time, because he's so _fucking_ spent it's silly.

"God, Jonny, can I - can we," Pat starts and stops, but then continues, "can I move you?"

"Yeah," Jonny answers, nearly boneless.

(If he said that out loud, Pat would snicker and say, "Heh, _boneless_ , right," so he doesn't say a thing as Pat maneuvers them around until he's on his elbows and knees and Pat's pressed against the back of his thighs, gripping his hips.

Yeah, he could get used to this.)

Pat starts out slow again and Jonny doesn't even _care_ , because it feels good as Pat glances against his prostate, never really _on_ and Jonny starts getting hard again, just barely, not even enough to really get him hot, but it's more than enough to know that Pat is _really getting off on this_. 

It doesn't last, though, and soon enough Pat's back to fucking him like he means it, panting out nonsense shit that Jonny adores because it's Pat that's saying it to him, telling him how good he looks on his cock and how much Pat loves him, how he's never going to give this up or let Jonny go, and it would worry him but Jonny _really_ likes it.  He likes how Pat can't control his mouth and how he lets the stupid shit come out here, too, and he likes how Pat calls him pet names and how Pat gets _really filthy_ the closer he gets to coming ( _jesus_ , he's never even _heard_ someone use the phrase "boy-cunt" and it's _so fucking misogynistic_ but now is not the time, and Jonny supposes he can let it slide but they will have _words_ later because Pat has _sisters_ and that word is _not nice_ , okay, but Pat's words are _burned_ into his brain: "I bet you love this, love me getting your boy-cunt loose and wet," and Jonny hates himself a little for how it gives his blood an extra jolt, makes him just a little harder).

He doesn't even know how long Pat fucks him, because he doesn't ever get more than half-mast and he just floats on the feeling of _Pat_ , in and out and around him, pressing kisses to his back and leaving new bruises and marks for him to see under his suits, little reminders that scream _PATRICK WAS HERE_ and _PATRICK HAS THIS_.

When Pat comes, it's less explosive than last time, sweet, almost, because Jonny can savor it more than he could before, because he's not at all concerned about himself.

Pat falls down on him, trying to hold himself up with shaky hands but fails and he goes limp, fingers twitching at Jonny's sides. He shoulders the weight, supporting Pat's smaller frame on his back and slowly sinks down completely onto the bed.

It's not easy, concentrating on keeping them both steady while Pat is panting wetly next to his ear, making a flush creep up his neck. He could roll Pat to the side so they could spoon again but if he's honest, he doesn't want to. Pat is still buried in him, filling and stretching him but Jonny isn't bothered by it. They probably can't stay like this all night (he _knows_ that they can't)  but for now he relishes it, having Pat cling to his back, his head right beside him, boxing him in under his weight and all around.

Jonny couldn't get away unless he tried really hard, but he doesn't want to; he's fine with Pat pinning him down for a while, caging him with his arms in a way that makes him feel more free than ever, close to a real loss of control over his limbs.  Pat's like a living blanket, and Jonny hasn't ever let someone this close to him, but it's _nice_.

Pat seems to come back down to earth after a little while, still plastered along Jonny's skin. "Sorry," he says, nuzzling the bites and bruises in the dip between Jonny's shoulder and neck.

"’S fine" Jonny mumbles back, trying to twist his head as much as possible to sink his nose into the blond curls. "You don't have to move, I like it."

"Yeah, but I also know how much you would complain if I actually let us stay like this for a night. Your back would kill you. You'd give me dirty looks every time it gave you a twinge," Pat snorts and slowly gets back on his knees, pulling out at the same time. It feels weird and Jonny whines because he feels like he is losing Pat a second time today. At least Pat rolls him on his side and spoons up behind him again, already comfortable with the position in a way he wasn't before. He just slips his arms around Jonny but keeps still this time.

It feels like an important moment, and Jonny cuddles back against him.  Pat starts to whisper against his neck and Jonny listens, not sure if it's for him or not. And then he can feel his heart break.

"Seriously, Jonny, this might be the best night of my life. I'm not sure if I'll be able to move a muscle tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep but I'm scared it will end like last time. I thought I had you and then you just were so angry the next morning and I was sure I had ruined things and maybe just read it all wrong. I would say I can't do it again, but I might be lying, you know? Because if I would get another night with you out of it I wouldn't stop for a second to think, even if you would hate me the next morning."

"Pat," Jonny says, trying to interrupt but Pat shushes him gently, pressing a finger to his lips and stilling his words.

"I know you said you love me, and that you were just doing your stupid hypercompetitive thing and not angry at me, and I know I can't make you feel however I want you to feel about me," and Pat is such a _fucker_ , of course he can he does it _all the time_ , "just, if you wake up in the morning and regret this, the stuff we did, just - try to talk to me, ok? I’ll try to work it out and be good for you and give you what you need but just try to talk to me, please, Jonny?" And his voice gets steadily smaller from the husky post sex voice to the tone Pat has whenever he worries about one of his sisters or has upset his mum.

And Jonny, Jonny can't take that, twists around in Pat’s arms so they're face to face again and kisses him slowly, still not over the pleasing scratch of Pat's stupid scruffy beard.

"I promise, Pat, you don't have to worry about tomorrow, and I promise I will talk to you. It’ll be alright, Pat. _We’ll_ be alright." He snuggles a little closer and buries himself in Pat. Pat doesn’t reply but the way his arms tighten around Jonny and how his breath slowly evens out answers all of Jonny's questions. He counts Pat's heartbeat until it becomes a soothing part of the background noise, a steady thump, and he slowly slips under as well.

* * *

He wakes up the same way he went to sleep, buried in Pat's arms. Through the window behind Pat, the soft sunlight of morning streams through the half-open blinds and Pat is blinking away the last bits of sleep in his eyes. Their gazes meet and Pat suddenly looks apprehensive and unsure, like he sounded the night before.

Jonny snuggles into his embrace and gives him a small peck on the lips. "Good morning," he says and watches as Pat's smile fills the room.


End file.
